Too Fat To Serve Peanuts

Who the hell do Air India think they are? News has hit the airwaves that they are firing flight attendants for being too fat. I flew Air India once...ONCE! It smelled like every passenger was using curry powder to keep their arm-pits dry and I kept waiting for a chicken to pop out of an overhead compartment. Babies crying to my left. Babies crying to my right. The flight attendants were the only redeeming aspect of the flight. They always smiled. They begged me to eat when I turned down my meal "Ah you shuh? It's vedy good". And, here's the best part, when they bring you your free booze they give you two, not one, TWO mini-bottles at once. No hunting them down when the first cocktail is done. Just pop your Xanax, drink your cheap wine and let the smells and sounds wash away. So, if the bulky flight attendants are the best part of the flight, who cares how big they are?

CASE DISMISSED

Shock fought the law and the Shock won. And guess what? I'd do it all over again, baby. They can try all they want but they can't stop me from being a good samaritan. Boo-YAH!

For those who don't know what I'm referring to, scroll down to -Spending My B-Day in a Courthouse-. Enjoy!

Baby Daddy!

That's no lie, bitches!

And apparently this picture was taken at the moment of conception.

Are You A Carrie?

If I get asked this question by another newspaper, magazine or girly web-site I'm going to pull out my hair and mail it to Sara Jessica Parker.

"You only have $650.00. Would you go to the new hot-spot for dinner w/ the girls or buy the new Monolo's you've been eyeing?" Here's what I'd do with $650.00. Pay off all the bills that are piling up because this God forsaken town financially gropes me everytime I walk out the front door.

Family and friends who don't live here ask me "Stef, you live in NYC. Is it really like that?" I'd tell you the reality of living single and cute in NYC but it would kill the fantasy that Michael Patrick King has made millions on. For the more financially challenged single woman I'd say life is like this blog. Tattoo removal, leaving dates while the date is in the bathroom, finally making money and then having your purse stolen, having a scale tell you you're 30 pounds heavier than you thought...etc.

When I'm at home writing, I'm not wearing cute bra-tops with skimpy boy-shorts and applying lip-gloss while looking out a pre-war window and contemplating female/male anthropology. No. The other night I killed a centipede who ran across my ground floor apartment, all the while, thumping Mexican music from a passing low-rider bounced off my walls.

I think if Carrie lived in my New York she'd probably pack her bags and move back to where she came from. So no, I'm not a Carrie. I'm a Stefani. Half the shoe collection, twice the reality. Exclamation Point.

Return Katy's Bag You DOUCHE!!!!

That's right. Since everyone in Manhattan reads The Pulitzer Blog I am certain the person who robbed my friend's bag is reading this and will be man enough to return it. That goes for women too. Grow a pair and RETURN KATY'S BAG!!!!!

You entered Oliva Restaurant on Friday, located the two most fabulous and tasteful women in the room and then took the blonde's bag because you knew the contents would be spectacular. And they were.

An iphone (just purchased), a Trio (for those so social they need two phones), a stack of credit cards (that's right...a STACK!), identification (hope you can pass as a foxy blond) and a pair of flip flops (No snarky comment here. Katy, why do you carry a pair of flip-flops in your purse?).

I insist you return Katy's bag to Oliva or else I'll find you...I'LL FIND YOU!!!!

This Scale Is An Asshole

On the corner of East Houston and 1st Avenue is an ATM kiosk with a scale that lied to me. For a quarter you can get your weight, your lucky number and a piece of advice. It said I was 156 pounds (I'm 110). It said my lucky number is 13 (its 7). Then it advised me to "Straighten Up". What? Who says that? I have a baseball bat with this scale's name on it.

Kitty Hickey

My partner-in-crime, Claire Richard, called last night and told me that while petting a kitten (a very hungry kitten) she ended up with red marks all over her neck. Once I got to the office I saw the damage done. She may think the red marks are innocent hickeys left by cute kittens but the reality is they serve as a mark of a truley desperate woman who's become so tired by the New York dating scene she seeks the company of the furrier kind.

Spending My B-day In A Court House

That's right. Shock's breakin'-the-law-lifestyle has gotten her in trouble with the police. The Strokes were right when they said New York City cops ain't that smart.

While patiently waiting behind some cute Swedish family at a subway turn-style I watched in agony as the father made a mistake that would effect both our lives. He swiped his card, saw the 'GO' sign light up and accidentally grabbed the wrong arm of the turn-style thus losing his turn. The look of confusion on his wife and child on the other side of the steel grate was too much to bare. He couldn't figure out how he was charged but didn't get to go through. Explaining to him in hand gestures was fruitless so I motioned for him to come in the turn-style with me. Of course a cop saw the whole thing and immediately grabbed us and read us the riot act.

I explained what happened in full detail. I actually thought he would let us go but Sgt. Suarez (a man who found his career at the stupid and angry gun-lovers job convention) had a chip on his shoulder and a quota to fill. He asked me numerous times if I've ever done something like this before. "MA'AM! HAVE YOU EVER DONE SOMETHING LIKE THIS BEFORE?" with a look in his eye like I just shot somebodies dog. I told him I've never even seen a parking ticket in my life. Since everyone has had at least one parking ticket I must be lying. He told me three times "if you're lying they will uncover the truth." I don't know who they are but learned right away when he served me a ticket on the spot. He was sweet enough to make the court date my birthday, June 2nd.

This pain I am feeling merits a very expensive birthday present of chocolates or jewelry. Send post-haste!

Only the Good Die Young...

...and that's why I spent my Vegas getaway with two hookers, an eight ball and a craps dealer that took a shine to me.

In truth, I stayed at Wynn, tanned topless, dined at Alex, took in a Cirque show, got on a plane and returned to NYC where life may not be as interesting but nothing feels like home.

Thank Shayna Ferm For Sticking It In You.

Inappropriate. Twisted. Surpasses sexual innuendo to the point of drunken lunacy. These are the marks of a noteworthy rock album. An artist achieves these through the marriage of catchy lyrics and hip-shaking instrumentals. Shayna Ferm and the Upper Deckers' debut album Blonde merges both elements with such ease her audience can't decide if they're taking in spot-on comedic zeitgeist or just a damn good rock anthem.

But what makes a rock album genius is it's ability to transcend time. The title track is that very edifice. Future generations will relate to songs that examine dying their bushes blonde. Is it just to confuse the drapes or is Ferm tapping into a maelstrom of profundity only a brunette with a bottle of bleach can understand? I think the latter. Shock has been down that road before...or should I say landing strip?

The full cache will resonate decades from now. Songs like 'Thank You For Sticking it in Me' will still be funny in 2040. Therefore throwing a dollar at the old itunes store should be considered an investment that will pay off when your grand-children sneak your ipod and crank it at college parties.